A Different Kind of Prophecy
by InsurgentHorde
Summary: Souls are exactly as we know them, malleable only by Dementors. Or are they? Zinaida discovers many truths as she traverses the modern-day Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Multi-OC, Multi-Pairings.
1. Chapter 1

"You're mad! Do you understand just what you're giving up to chase this- this dream of yours?"

"Oh, I know very well. This is more than a dream after all, this is my future. Our future, if you would have it my way. This is how our world needs to be; No one will stop me."

"And this is the only way you can do it? You and I both know this is the wrong path to take! Balance will not allow it!"

"Do not tell me what will and will not be allowed! I choose my own path, and I'd like to see someone try to stop me. I am powerful; more powerful than any wizard before me. It is much too late for you to back out, dear."

"I was never with this in the beginning! I regret making the decision to ignore what you've done; what you're doing! I was wrong before, but this can be righted now! If only you'll let me...if only you'll come away with me and leave this all behind you. Nothing good will come of it."

The young man let out a mirthless chuckle.

"Righted? My dear, everything is just the way I wish it to be! I am power. My very name strikes fear into the hearts of my enemies! You will not take that away from me. I've known for many a years that love makes one weak; I'm almost ashamed to think that I let our little...thing get this far. Had I known this is where it would lead us, I would have disposed of you long ago."

"Disposed of me!? Where would you be without me? Without that diary of yours? Without that knowledge you possess in no small part thanks to me!"

"Do you not hear my words, girl? I survived before you, and I will survive long after you are gone. You may have assisted me in my goals, but forget not that I am more than capable of reaching my own personal goals on my own. The rest of you are merely pawns, for my disposal."

The girl's anger flared once more.

"You have become a sick and twisted! One whose goals do not deserve to be met! You will tear families apart limb from limb; you will rule with a heavy hand of fear, disposing of those who oppose or fail you as you have already begun to do. Don't think I don't know. I've known ever since the very first victim what you've become capable of; I was just too blinded by my own emotions to see the destructive malevolence in your eyes. And yet I can still imagine a happiness with you. If only you'd give this ridiculous dream up, and come with me…"

"What part of never do you not understand! I will die before I willingly give up what I've worked so hard for. Our kind and our kind alone deserve this planet! All others should be exterminated, like the vermin they are. If you can no stand beside me in that, then it is much too late for you. You know much too much, dear. If this is your final answer, I'm afraid this is goodbye. Our time together was...pleasurable."

The girl's eyes grew wide as the reality of his words sunk in in mere seconds. She raised her wand in a feeble attempt for protection, but she knew not a spell for protection against one so sinister and final.

As the bright green light connected with her body, her muscles seized up and her body fell back, nearly lifeless. In her final moments, she felt something inside her break. Surely, with a betrayal as strong as such this was normal…

And then there was nothing.

* * *

September first marked the coming of the new school year at Hogwarts: School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Returning students poured through the door of the Great Hall ahead of the first years, who as per tradition arrive by boat. This year marked Harry Potter's fourth year of schooling, and the revival of an age old tradition of the schools.

The students were restless waiting for the first years to arrive and be sorted; the rain left almost all of the students wet and cold, eager to get warm food into their bellies.

The ceiling of the Great Hall reflected the weather quite well on this first evening; dark clouds swirling above the heads of students, almost as if they themselves were threatening to let out a torrential downpour as was occurring outside the castle walls.

The first years were ushered into the Great Hall in a timely manner, after McGonagall's small speech that she gave to all the upcoming first years, year after year.

Soon enough each of the students was sorted, from Ackerly, Stewart to Whitby, Kevin, and Dumbledore signalled the beginning of the feast thereafter.

The evening continued on as every first day did at Hogwarts, little going astray this year from the last. Soon the food was cleared from the tables, and Dumbledore made his start of term speech, reminding students of rules and introducing new faculty and what not. Same old, same old.

And yet, everyone seemed to be on edge; anxious, almost. As if they were just waiting for something to happen.

Even Dumbledore could feel it. There was a palpable energy hanging in the air, one that forewarned an occurrence that the headmaster had not yet had the pleasure of witnessing; in fact, had it not been for the statues that were carved into the outcroppings of the alcoves that lined the Great Hall, he might have written off and forgotten about many years ago.

Knowledge of The Souls was passed down from headmaster to headmaster, not necessarily secret information but sensitive all the same. Professor Dumbledore knew that each statue located in the Hall was in likeness of a prominent student that had once attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Past tense being a vital component of that description. Each of the students depicted by artists of old had perished in one way or another while in attendance of the school.

But that was not all. Each student was one of-if not the-most promising witch or wizard of their age. It was this inner quality that set them apart from all others, what gave them the right to their memorials-more or less. There was more to the story, of course, but it had been years since Dumbledore had read up on the subject. He made a little note to himself to do just that in the coming evenings.

Some time passed before the students relaxed, realizing that nothing was going to happen. They happily continued to dig into their food, but none more than one particular red-headed Gryffindor known well throughout the school for both his family and the boy he called his best friend.

The evening was peaceful, up until the conclusion of the feast. Those very statues that had exuded a magical energy long gone from this world pulsed once more; a vague memory resurfaced, and the signature twinkle in his eye seemed to dim a bit, to any who might have been glancing at the professor just then.

But he did not make a sound, and waited for the students and faculty to retire for the night.

The doors to the Great Hall closed as the last of the faculty exited, sealing off the room from the rest of the castle.

And so, the headmaster waited. It occurred to him that his research would have to be more expedient than he had originally intended; It seemed that those documents would become important in the coming days.

Before long the pulses became consistent, up until the point where there was no discerning one from another. The headmaster could pinpoint the resonating power from four of the student statues that lined the walls; one that watched over the Hufflepuff table, another for Gryffindor, and two from Ravenclaw.

Soon the pulses ceased to exist apart from each other, and each statue exuded a force that hummed unbroken.

The process was almost complete.

The stone began to crack, the unique sound occurring once for each form, a depression appearing on a various part of each. Cracks spider webbed out from these points, crossing over each other and causing bits of the stonework to come loose and fall.

The first shower of stone dust prompted the headmaster to rise from his seat and advance towards the nearest of the figures, otherwise known as the Slytherin Guardian. Conjuring his patronus, the headmaster sent it through the doors of the Great Hall to gather McGonagall, Snape, and Madame Pomfrey because as the pieces of stone fell away, the body of a young girl was revealed within.

A quick levitation charm was performed on each of the girl so as to not allow harm to come to their corporeal forms as they emerged from their stone encasings, as they seemed unconscious.

Shortly after the doors to the Great Hall were opened once more, this time revealing the presence of the three he sent for.

"It seems we have visitors," Dumbledore started, moving towards the center aisle of the room, "of the most interesting kind. I will need to refresh my memory on their history, as I'm afraid this situation has not arisen in my time here. Poppy, if you could watch over the girls for the time being, I need to get some things sorted."

The mediwitch nodded, still shocked into silence.

With a flick of Dumbledore's wand, the girls' bodies followed Pomfrey out the door.

The Headmaster turned towards his two most trusted colleagues. "The reason I also had the two of you called also pertains to our newest additions. If you would follow me…" and he moved towards the exit, presumably to go to his office where matters could be more private.


	2. Chapter 2

Sore.

Sore was the only feeling that Zinaida could clearly comprehend. Everything was stiff.

Confusion was next. The soft surface underneath her was certainly not the base of the Ravenclaw tower.

Determination was third. Her eyelids were heavy; almost too heavy to open. Luckily, that didn't discourage her. She had this feeling...this feeling that something wasn't quite right.

When she was able to pry her eyelids opened, the sight that greeted her explained why. Above her, she saw a vaguely familiar structure that could only belong to one place-the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts.

That alone was enough for her to pause in her internal physical check. It couldn't be, she thought, there's no way she could have lived through that. Such a vibrant, strong colored curse...no one survived those.

A pressure welled in her chest as she frantically looked around her, the sights confusing her and the motions dizzying. The only familiar thing in the wing was the architecture; all the furniture was different, strange.

Testing her fingers and toes for movement, she focused on the other girls that were in the wing along with her. They, however, were not so immobilized as she, if their huddled group on one of the cots was anything to go by. The creaking of the springs below her as she moved to sit up alerted them to their consciousness.

She watched cautiously as the unknown girls fell silent, looking towards her. She didn't recognize a single one; they clearly didn't go to school with her either, from the way they were dressed. They wore some semblance of a uniform, but it was different from the one Zinaida was familiar with.

Struck suddenly with a new curiosity, she looked down at herself. Stranger even, she too wore the same uniform-esque articles of clothing.

A fresh wave of dizziness overtook her, and she grasped at her temples, her elbows resting on her knees.

"Take it easy, sister, things will be confusing at first but give it some time. We'll explain some things as they come. You just need to relax for now," The raven haired one soothed, turning her body fully towards Zinaida.

Her words only served to confused, though. She opened her mouth to begin questioning, but was cut off by the opening of the doors at the head of the wing.

"Professor!" She blurted, recognizing the old Transfiguration professor.

Though, she thought, he seemed older than the last time she saw him. Which was only a matter of days ago, right?

The old man's eyes sparkled when he smiled, "Zinaida. It's good to see you in good health." He said, choosing his words carefully. He was unsure of just how much she knew yet.

Zinaida smiled, comforted by the familiarity of the man. Her smile faltered, however. Shouldn't she be dead?

"Professor…" she began, unsure of how to pose her question. "Shouldn't I have died?"

Dumbledore couldn't help but smile a little bit at that. Death didn't really change a person, it seemed. "Yes, Zinaida. You did indeed die that night."

She paused, startled. "So...then…?"

He gave another comforting smile. "I'm sure your companions here will fill you in on your situation. I just came by to see if you were conscious. As I have my answer, I will take my leave. Ladies, once you've settled if you would please come up to my office; Minerva and I will get you settled." And with that he bid his goodbye.

Confused more than ever, Zinaida turned to the trio of girls beside her. "So…?" She asked, unsure of where to begin.

The raven haired one spoke first, again. "We'll start off simple, I think. First I believe introductions are in order; My name is Anaida, family name and all. Yes, we're related. Distantly. To my right is Estelle," she gestured to the brunette who was, in fact, on her right, "and to my left is Natalia." True once more, she gestured to the blond girl on her left.

All three were attractive, Anaida having a similar high cheekbone structure to Zinaida, Estelle a heart shaped face and Natalia had features that alluded to hispanic roots.

Anaida continued to speak, "We all attended Hogwarts, at once. Died here, as well. The Master saw our potential, and collected us, so to speak." She hurried on, wishing not to be interrupted by the questions she saw brewing in Zinaida's eyes. She hoped to answer as many as she could. "The Master is not a corporeal being. He is an energy. And overseer. He trains those of us that he chooses in various ways, to suit the causes He has foreseen us to stand for. Our presence here now means one or all of us has a cause. Though I've never been called back to Hogwarts in all my resurrections, so there's something else going on now. The three of us have worked together before as well, so adding you who has clearly never been brought out of your state of limbo puts a twist into things."

Natalia butt in here, "Anaida here is the eldest of us. Her death date is closer to the founding of the school- the eleventh century if I remember correctly." Anaida nodded in confirmation, "I'm in the middle- the fifteenth century is where I call home, and Estelle is late nineteenth."

Zinaida's head spun. These girls talked of centuries as places to call home. Is that what happened to souls that roamed until the end of time?

"Very well," she began, taking a deep breath, "I died. I remember that much. But you had mentioned something about training? Wouldn't I remember something?" She blinked at the strange, informal speech that tumbled from her lips.

Estelle answered her. "No, not necessarily. It's common for the first return to feel as though no time has passed. Like Anaida said, we're in a state of limbo during the latent time, and it takes a while to be able to consciously retain any training one might go through during that time."

She nodded, more or less understanding what the girl was saying. "You also spoke of a "cause" that one might have - what is our cause here?"

The three paused, unsure of how to answer the question. Anaida, however, stepped up biting her lip slightly.

"We've already discussed this, and we haven't come to a solid conclusion. Truthfully, we thought our courses were finished. We three each dealt with our demons. Our only thought is that you have something to do here-and require our assistance."

Zinaida pursed her lips. Demons? There was only one she could think of, and the way things had been going...he should be long dead.

Shouldn't he?

"I believe I understand what our purpose here is, then. First, however, we'll need to know what sorts of events occurred since my...death." She struggled to use the term so casually. If she had truly died, there's no coherent way that she would be sitting there in the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts. It was absurd, really.

Estelle shrugged. "As good a place to start as any. Let's go see Dumbledore and get all that settled first. He's bound to know something about whatever it is you must face anyhow. The man's nearly clairvoyant." She suggested, standing to emphasize her point.

Zinaida gave a sort of awkward laugh, but followed nonetheless. Dumbledore was more than certain to be knowledgeable on the subject- he had suspected them for years.

There was one thing she was sure of; she wasn't prepared to face it then, and she hadn't changed much (if any) between then and now.

What was fate going to put her through?


End file.
